


Monsters

by ChettaDrabbles (KOranges)



Series: Some Wounds Take Longer to Heal [3]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 13:48:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KOranges/pseuds/ChettaDrabbles
Summary: The road to recovery starts with hitting absolute rock bottom. This is a fact that Bucky knows all too well.Bucky's POV of Parts 1 & 2





	Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> Each of these drabbles are inspired by a prompt I received during an eight month long writing challenge. I'll only be sharing my favorites but every Tuesday & Thursday and I'll post a new one. This is post 3/5 in a row of related drabbles.
> 
> Prompt: "Monsters are real. Ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win."

**Day 0**

He was so angry it was choking him and he couldn't breathe. The rage felt like it was concentrated in his gut, twisting and turning as if it had a life of its own. Bucky watched even Steve flinch as a fist- his own, he realized belatedly, went through the hospital wall. 

The monster made of rage in his seethed from its place in his stomach. 

**Day 7**

“Buck.” The hand felt like hot iron on his shoulder. He yanked away and stormed out of the room. He had to get out. It felt like he was going to burn alive under the heat of his husband’s glare. It wasn’t harsh or judgmental but apologetic and pitying. 

“I’m fine.” He called over his shoulder. 

“You going to eat something?” Steve asked, following him. Bucky frowned. 

“Why?” He asked. Steve’s look put him on edge. 

“You’re in the kitchen, Bucky.” Steve said it gently. Worried. Bucky hated the tone. 

“I’m fine.” He said again. 

The kitchen was crowded. Between Bucky and Steve and their grief there wasn’t really room for everyone. Bucky felt useless. Helpless. The whole house felt like a graveyard. Neither of them had touched any of Mikhail’s things. 

“I’m here if you need me.” Steve told him. He reached out but Bucky yanked away. 

“I just need to lay down.” Bucky said quietly. He walked to Mikhail’s room and laid down on the cot that they’d set up during the worse days. A week had done nothing to distance the memory of his little face contorted with pain. He thought it would make him feel better but instead all Bucky felt was the pain of watching his son die both slowly and painfully. As he drifted off the sleep he could almost hear the sound of Mikhail’s cries on his last night. 

**Day 28**

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice was cold. “Bucky, are you drunk?” 

“Well, I ain’t doing the Cha-cha.” Bucky snorted. He mimed doing the dance and almost fell. 

“You’re certainly not.” Steve tried to grab Bucky’s glass but he wrestled it from him. 

Bucky frowned and took another swig from the glass in front of him. They were at a bar. Bucky drinking did not seem like it should garner the level of surprise that Steve was giving him. It was just a drink. Just alcohol. Given the month that he’d had there was nobody in the world who would judge him for wanting a drink at the end of the day. 

“Let me take you home.” Steve said quietly, taking Bucky by the arm. 

“No.” Bucky resisted. He tried to yank out of his husband’s grasp. 

“Bucky, we’re going home.” Steve’s grip tightened on Bucky’s arm. 

“I’m not going back to that place.” Bucky screamed. 

“Why not?” Steve asked him. 

“You think it’s ok to stay there.” Bucky’s voice was cold. Cruel. His words slurred as they made their way out of mouth. “Our son died in that house. It’s not a home. It’s a mausoleum.” 

Steve’s mouth was a thin line as his grip turned to steel. “Stop, Bucky. Stop it right now.” 

**Day 73**

The vase shattered against the wall and its shards scattered across the living in a spray. Bucky didn’t even flinch at the noise. Steve, who’d had his back to him, took cover as if it was an incendiary explosive. Maybe it was. Steve’s face was furious. 

“Oh, so now you want my attention?” Steve screamed at him. “Today you want to talk?” 

Bucky made a noise that sounded like a growl. “Well, maybe, if you’d stick around long enough.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve shouted. 

“Exactly what I said, Steve.” Bucky snapped. 

“I am going to work, Bucky.” Steve told him. He took a deep breath. “I have to go to work.” 

“You’re running back to your office. Running away.” Bucky made a hand motion that betrayed exactly how far down the tequila bottle Bucky had gotten instead of sleeping the night before. Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky’s antics. 

“I am earning a paycheck.” Steve said coolly. “One of us has to.” 

Bucky snarled. “And I guess only one of us has to mourn our son.” 

Bucky’s senses were too dulled to catch that Steve was swinging at him and the blow laid him out on the floor. For a minute or two he couldn’t move. He didn’t know why he said that. He shouldn’t have said that. Crying softly, instead of standing he rolled to his side and closed his eyes. Bucky slept for the first time in days. He was out before Steve even locked the door behind him. 

**Day 104**

“You’re just leaving?” Steve asked him. Bucky didn’t say anything and kept packing. 

“You knew this was coming.” Was all Bucky said. 

“I knew it was a possibility but you getting deployed right now. Is it a good time?” Steve asked. 

“Listen, I do as I’m told.” Bucky snapped. “I got orders. I’m not telling them no.” 

Steve tried to make Bucky look at him, but Bucky turned and went back to the closet. Being honest, Bucky wanted to go. He’d been counting days. Hours. Minutes. There was a blackness in this house. He turned corners and wanted to see Mikhail smiling or laughing but he didn’t. All he saw was shadows and they were eating him alive every day. He took it in with every breath and it was slowly suffocating him. Slowly killing him. 

“We just lost our son.” Steve’s voice broke. Bucky snorted. 

“Trust me, I am well aware of what I’ve lost.” Bucky told him. Steve was crying, sitting on the edge of the bed. And Bucky knew he ought to comfort him but just…couldn’t. He didn’t have it in him. He was sober, for once, and itching for a drink he knew he couldn’t have. All he had was the timer in his head that told him he’d be leaving soon. 

“You said we could talk to someone.” Steve reminded him. 

“We will. When I get back.” Bucky promised. 

“I do love you, Bucky Barnes.” Steve whispered. Bucky stopped. He had to force himself to stop packing and take the five steps to his husband. He knew how to do this much. He leaned in and gave Steve a kiss, pushing every ounce left of light he had in him into it. 

“I know.” Bucky said back, pressing his face into Steve’s hair. “I love you, too.” 

And he meant it. But the monster curled and spat and raged about how it wasn’t enough.

**Day 297**

Christmas felt weird in the desert. Hot. Humid. Uncomfortable. He watched himself in the small video window as the call tried to connect to Steve. They’d said they would talk today, it being a holiday and everything. They hadn’t managed more than a five-minute phone call in months. The service was bad, Bucky was busy, and honestly there were better uses for his time than the awkward spaces of silence in their conversations. 

When the video went live, Steve was smiling at him widely. It was clearly forced. 

“You put up the Christmas decorations.” Bucky said in lieu of greeting. 

“You didn’t.” Steve quipped. It was an ugly white wall, Bucky knew. They both forced laughter. 

“I’m glad you’re celebrating.” Bucky told him. But the little gremlin in his stomach was griping about how short a time it had been since Mikhail. How easily Steve was putting it behind him. He tried not to listen. Forced himself to match Steve’s smile. 

“My mom’s here.” Steve told him. “She, uh, didn’t want me to be alone.” 

“That’s nice.” Bucky said softly. But the gremlin was screaming. Accusing Steve of rubbing it in. 

“How are you?” Steve asked. 

“I’m ok.” Bucky shrugged. “You?” 

“Fine.” Steve nodded. Then there was the awkward pause. The empty space. 

“You’re halfway done at least.” Steve continued when Bucky said nothing. Six months down. Bucky winced and went to broach the subject of extending his contract. 

“Listen, I-” 

The screen went black before Bucky could continue. He tried to reconnect but it failed. The service was down. He slammed a hand on the desk but gave up and made his way back towards his barracks. He had volunteered for parole just to keep himself busy. But halfway back to his tent a man stopped him. 

“Barnes?” The man pointed at him. Bucky stopped. 

“Yeah. I know you?” Bucky asked. The man nodded. 

“Rumlow.” He extended his hand. Ah. From Karachi. Bucky remembered distinctly not liking him. But his hand stayed there and was followed by. “I have some vodka in my room. Want to celebrate the holidays?” 

Bucky smiled. “Definitely.” 

**Day 447**

He was in a bar in Paris, stumbling drunk and on the phone fighting with his husband. Rumlow and the rest of their unit were over at the bar doing shots of some liquor Bucky hadn’t even heard of before and he wanted in. 

“Listen.” Bucky said finally. “We’ve talked this to death. My decision is final.” 

Steve scoffed. “Just like that, you get to decide?” 

“Yes. Yes, on this I do.” Bucky shouted. A few people looked his way. 

“You’ve been gone for a year. This year has been so hard. On both of us.” 

“Don’t talk to me about how hard this year has been.” Bucky screamed. The fact that Steve’s voice was remaining calm irked him. He wanted the fight. He wanted to scream and shout and then hang up and have it all be over. The little gremlin was cheering him on. 

“I need my husband.” Steve sounded hurt, desperate. Bucky knew it was late there. 

“I need to stay here.” Bucky shot back. “We are saving lives.” 

“They’re all saving lives.” Steve snapped. “You can save mine.” 

“You don’t need saving, Steve.” Bucky tried to explain to him. But Steve just let out another cry. 

“I do.” Steve insisted. 

“I couldn’t save Mikhail.” Bucky said quietly, crying into the phone. 

“Neither of us could.” He tried to sound soothing. But all Bucky heard was accusation. 

“I need this.” Bucky told him, quietly. 

“I need you.” Steve said again. Bucky almost wished it was enough. 

“I’m telling you it’s already done. I’ll be back in six more months.” Bucky tried to sound strong. 

“I’m telling you I might not be here when you get back.” Steve said softly. 

“That’s your choice. I made mine.” Bucky hung up the phone and walked back to the bar and his friends. They cheered and pushed some more alcohol his way. Bucky tried to drink away the cheering little monster in his stomach but it wouldn’t stop. 

**Day 794**

He’s on patrol when the package comes in and gets a slip to pick it up from the office. He doesn’t know what it is and doesn’t even consider it would be from Steve until he’s looking at the thick yellow envelope with Steve’s name in the return address. He just stared at it dumbly until the clerk told him to stop blocking the line. 

“What is it?” Bucky’s roommate was already opening a bottle of something pungent smelling. 

“Package from my husband.” He said shortly. His roommate winced. 

“Thought that was over and done with.” He didn’t bother asking and poured two glasses. 

“Apparently it is.” Bucky said quietly. 

He tossed the papers on to the table and ignored the top bolded line that read **_Petition for Divorce_** and instead decided to help his roommate finish the bottle on his desk. 

**Day 1068**

The bar was seedy and gross and Bucky was so drunk that he was barely able to keep his head of the bar no matter how grimy it felt. Everything was slimy and coated in a layer of filth that seemed ever present in establishments like this one. He was tired. They’d been on liberty for maybe thirty-six hours and almost all of them had been spent celebrating their momentary freedom. 

“Barnes.” Rumlow’s mouth was hot and heavy by Bucky’s ear. It felt almost as gross as the bar. 

“Go ‘way.” He mumbled into his arm. 

“You know you want it.” Rumlow teased. 

“I want Steve.” He whined. Rumlow laughed cruelly and let his mouth keep molesting his neck. 

“We both know that ship’s sailed.” He breathed. Bucky felt disgusting. “You’re some filthy broken thing. You’re nothing to him. He hasn’t even called in a year. I’m right here.” 

Bucky was gonna be sick on the counter. Instead he stood roughly. “You can’t fucking have me.” 

He stumbled out of the bar and on to the street, blinking awkwardly against the light he hadn’t been expecting. Wasn’t it night time? He heard Rumlow shouting cruel things from inside so he just moved, shuffling along until he found a place he could lie down. He just wanted to lie down. 

“Hey, soldier.” Someone shook his shoulder. “You ok?” 

Bucky barely lifted his head. “No. No, I’m not.” 

**Day 1456**

Bucky had been stateside just a couple weeks. He had been planning this, mostly while drunk, for a while but didn’t know exactly what he was going to do. Walking down the street to their old place, Bucky took a few bracing swigs from his flask. This was going to be difficult. 

The outside of the house hadn’t changed much. Some old brick. Place façade. He bounded up the front steps and banged on the door a few times. “Steve.” 

“Steve.” He kept banging and shouting when there was no response to his knocking. 

“Steve, answer the door.” He shouted, banging as hard as he could. 

Suddenly the door flew open. A younger man was on the other side of the door but he was decidedly not Steve. Too young. Too dark. Too small. Bucky frowned at him and tried to form words but they came out on a hiccup. 

“Can I help you?” The man asked. 

“I’m looking for Steve Rogers.” Bucky slurred. 

“Who?” 

“Steve Rogers.” He over annunciated. “Stevie. He lives here. We lived here.” 

The man did not seem impressed by Bucky’s snickering and gesturing. “Well, not anymore.” 

“What?” Bucky frowned at him and kept him from closing the door. 

“Mate, I’ve lived her two years. And I ain’t Steve Rogers.” The man pushed Bucky back and slammed the door in his face. Bucky was left on the street by himself. 

**Day 1499**

“How long you been back stateside?” The voice next to him was soft but Bucky still jumped. 

“Not long.” Bucky admitted. His voice was rough so he covered it with a cough. 

The raised eyebrow wasn’t judgmental but it still made Bucky bristle. They were in the back of the auditorium of the VA in Brooklyn. There was a meeting going on but Bucky was only half listening to it. The other half of him was trying not to think about the flask in his jacket. 

“How long has it been since you had a drink?” The man asked. 

“What time did this meeting start?” Bucky asked instead of answering. 

“One of those days?” The man asked. 

“One of those years.” Bucky shot back. “One of several in a row, actually.” 

The meeting was ending and everyone was standing up. The leader, some man maybe ten years older than Bucky with a prosthetic leg and greying hair, started on his closing thoughts. Bucky stood to slip out of the meeting a little ahead of everyone else. He didn’t mingle at these things. 

“Where are you headed?” The man asked. 

“Out.” Bucky snapped. 

“You want to grab a coffee?” He asked. Bucky frowned. 

“Not particularly.” He grumbled. The man grabbed Bucky’s arm and retracted immediately. 

“Sorry.” He apologized. Bucky turned to keep walking but the man followed. “Wait. Just, wait.” 

Bucky was almost to the front door, covering ground quickly. He had no intentions of slowing down and already had his flask out and uncapped. The other man yanking on his arm brought him screeching to a halt to stop the flask from spilling. 

“I’ve been where you are.” He started. Bucky nearly growled. “You’ve lost someone.” 

“Wrong tree.” Bucky snarled. 

“It sucks and it hurts. And you’re suffering. Do you read fantasy novels?” The man was on a roll and Bucky had barely nodded before he plowed on and kept talking. “It’s easier to pretend that there aren’t such things as monsters. That us soldiers have already faced our worst when we get home from combat. But that’s not true. There’s a famous quote, I forget who by. It goes: Monsters are real. Ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win.” 

“And the alcohol is the monster in this scenario?” Bucky snorted and took a swig. 

“The monster is whatever’s making you drink.” He countered. Bucky just smirked at him. 

“Ahhh, monster hand.” Bucky mocked, drinking from the hand with the flask dramatically. He pretended he didn’t feel the monster in his gut telling him to start swinging.

“Man.” Instead of being annoyed the other man laughed. He extended a hand. “Sam Wilson.” 

“Bucky Barnes.” Bucky took it. 

**Day 1915**

“Sam, I can’t do this.” Bucky whispered into the phone. He’d parked down the block after circling it a half dozen times. An older man across the street had glared at him the fourth time and Bucky was a little concerned that he was going to get the cops called on himself. 

“This is what the meetings have been for.” Sam reminded him. “You’ve made progress.” 

Bucky shook his head. “What if Bro-” 

“If the question ‘What if Brock Rumlow was right?’ leave your mouth one more time I’m going to enjoy punching it.” Sam quipped. Bucky snapped his mouth shut. 

Sam had used his connections to help Bucky find Steve. Bucky didn't even ask how. He’d moved to quitter part of town. The house was cute. Had a little postage stamp sized yard and was all picturesque. Generally the type of neighborhood Bucky stood out like a sore thumb in. 

“I brought wine.” Bucky said quietly. “It's non-alcoholic. Was that stupid?” 

Sam was quiet for a second. “Maybe optimistic. Because of the first date?" 

“Yeah." It felt stupid now to Bucky. He contemplated leaving it in the car. 

"It's cute." Sam reassured him. 

"What do I say?” He asked. Sam laughed. 

“I heard you practicing in front of the mirror.” He teased. “You know what you’re going to say.” 

“You heard that?” 

“Already told everyone in the support group about it.” Sam admitted. Bucky groaned while Sam went into a dramatic reenactment of what he’d overheard. It did help relieve some of the nerves. Sam was good at that. 

“I got this.” Bucky said confidently. Sam gave him a cheer and disconnected the call without saying goodbyes. Neither of them really cared for them. It took Bucky another minute to force himself out of the car and down the block. Another five to get up the steps and to the door. But when he was standing there he found it didn’t take much effort at all to finally raise his hand and knock on the door. 

**Day 2190**

Bucky was holding the blanket Steve had given him almost a year ago. Mikhail’s blanket. It was a little more worn now. It smelled a little less like him. But he needed it today. Today was going to be hard. Amazing, but also hard. He held it tightly once more before folding it carefully on his lap. 

He hadn’t seen Steve since that night. He hadn’t done anything to see him. Bucky’d needed some time to put himself back together. Sam had gotten him into therapy. And AA. And so Sam was who Bucky had leaned on this past year. And Sam who was introducing him tonight. 

Everyone clapped as he made his way to the front of the room. Most of them were familiar faces by now. A lot of them came more than once a week just like Bucky did. This was the first time Bucky was getting up to talk like this. 

“Hi.” He waved awkwardly with his metal hand. Some of them laughed. “My name is Bucky Barnes. And I’m an alcoholic.” 

“Hi, Bucky.” Everyone chorused back. 

“I’ve been sober for a year. A year today, actually. I’m getting my chip after this meeting.” There was a round of applause that made Bucky smile. “It’s been hard. I was active duty military until about 2 years ago. I had two arms until about 2.5 years ago. And I was a father until 6 years ago. I lost my position in the military thanks to the IED that took my arm. And I lost my son a leukemia when he was 4 and a half years old.” 

And off he went. Just like that. 

“it was a good speech, Buck.” Sam whispered to him later. “I’m proud of you.” 

He pressed a cold chip into Bucky’s hand. It had ‘ONE YEAR’ written on it proudly. “Thanks.” 

“I think you have a visitor.” Sam whispered. He jerked his head towards the door. Steve. 

“How?” Bucky’s mouth formed words he couldn’t say. Sam smirked. 

“You’re welcome." 

"Do you know S-" 

"Just go." Sam pushed Bucky out of his seat. Steve was standing there, hands in his pockets and completely out of place. He made eye contact with Bucky and he could see that he’d been crying. Bucky walked over to where he was standing. Steve didn’t look angry as he walked up, but he still looked close to tears. 

“You got sober on the day Mi-” 

“Yeah.” Bucky cut him off. “Seemed as good a day as any.” 

“I’m happy for you.” Steve told him quietly. 

“Why are you here?” Bucky whispered. He pulled Steve out into the hall as someone else started their sharing. It would be rude to talk through it. 

“I hadn’t heard from you.” Steve whispered. 

“I didn’t think you wanted to.” Bucky told him. Maybe a little more bitterly than intended. Steve squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. For a second it looked as if he was going to walk away from him and just go. Bucky was tempted to do the same. He felt the monster urging him. Instead, Bucky took a deep breath. 

“I’ve missed you.” He said quietly. Steve looked back at him in surprise. For a moment they just stared at each other, unsure of what to do next.

“I am going to visit Mikhail.” Steve said finally. “Would you like to come?” 

Bucky covered his surprise with a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”


End file.
